The Caveat of Cantarella
by Related To Italy
Summary: Summary in the Intro (first page). Basically: SuFin. Other assorted pairings. Around the 1680s. Assassins. Lords of large castles. Hunters after said assassins. Death. Gore. Love that triumphs a majority of things . . . Sounds interesting already doesn't it?
1. Intro

The Caveat of Cantarella

Caveat (noun) : a modifying or cautionary detail to be considered when evaluating, interpreting, or doing something

Cantarella (noun) : a poison derived from arsenic used most famously by the Borgia family to assassinate political enemies

Year: 1680

Summary: The Kasvoton is the most feared assassin group of the 1600s, they will take any job for the right price and they'll get it done. Tino and his best friend Ilta were part of the group until a failed mission. Tino and Ilta run . . . straight into Lord Berwald, ruler of Northern Sweden. With all the characters assembling on stage, who exactly is the villain?

* * *

A/N: Due to necessity, Berwald (Sweden) will be a bit OOC for speaking. I will try to balance this out as well as I can, but quite honestly, he's the ruler of a castle and most of northern Sweden. There's no way he would have been taught to mumble unintelligibly. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The snow fell lightly, yet each time a spiraling flake hit Tino Väinämöinen, he felt as if a ton of bricks crushed him. "Tino!" his childhood friend, Ilta, hissed, "Come, we do not have much time!" Tino scowled. As if he wasn't aware of the time they didn't have. Escaping like this was extremely dangerous, and yet it was the only viable option that Tino could come up with. The blond Finnish man dragged himself from the snow, smoothly pulling himself onto the fallen tree Ilta stood on. She cut a fine figure in the clothes of a male, her sharp cheekbones and slanted grey eyes taking in everything. Her hair was cut strangely; short in the back and sides of the head, but long in the front, enough to cover one side of her face. And yet . . . she was a gorgeous young man. Tino couldn't help scowling again. While his female friend Ilta got the handsome male features, he was stuck with a soft, child-like face and a slim-waist, round-hipped figure. His eyes were wide and violet, trusting, and his hair was soft like a newborns. The times he was mistaken for a girl was the same amount of time Ilta was mistaken for a male. Tino set them straight quickly. Despite his delicate form, he was the best shot in their village. As Tino and Ilta struggled through the snow, he thought back to one particular moment of pride. A caravan had passed through. Tino was wearing a long tunic, one he disliked because it accentuated his femininity even more. It didn't help that he was sent out with a basket to collect herbs in. A group of five of the caravan workers had seen him, and mistook him for a female. They halted him in his path and tried to flirt; it escalated to the point that they began pinching him. Angered, he challenged him to a competition to regain his honor, as was custom. They laughed and ignored him, and loomed closer. Then Ilta had come. She wore breeches and a tunic, as always, with her breasts bound flat.  
"What's this?" she asked, hands in pockets. Tino glared at her and she stopped meters away from the group of men. She took the situation in quickly. "You know," she began, "In the civilized world, we challenge those who besmirch our honor to a competition." Her grey eyes narrowed, "Even women have that honor here." It implied nothing and everything. To Tino and Ilta, it merely meant that Ilta could step up and defend Tino's honor, something he'd never let her do. To the caravan workers, it meant that the little maid they were picking on could stand up and fight. A particularly cocky young male accepted Tino's challenge to the bow. Everyone from the village and the caravan watched.  
Tino beat the boy, every arrow hitting the bullseye.  
It was the proudest moment of the Finnish man's life; everyone had seen his mastery with the bow.  
In fact, ever since then Tino had not missed a shot ever, not even to Ilta (even though her skills with a dagger were none he could ever match).  
And that was saying something, seeing as their village was one of assassins.

* * *

Berwald Oxenstierna sat in his room, staring at the fire set in the grate. For a lord, he had surprisingly small chambers with enough room for a wardrobe, a small bed, and a fireplace. He was confronted with a rather large problem. His captain of the guards had died just yesterday, from old age, and he needed a replacement. Oddly enough, his personal secretary had been killed the other day from a bandit's arrow. Both incidents were unwanted events and made things difficult for Berwald. He needed a replacement for these two positions and he needed them now. He rubbed his face tiredly, knocking his glasses askew. What was he to do?

The captain was hired by his father, and the secretary was also his father's. Then, when his father died, they stayed with the younger lord to help him along. Both were loyal, good men.  
And now they were dead.  
It was not an encouraging situation.  
Berwald ran his fingers through his hair, eyelids drooping. He'd have to go to sleep soon; all the stress was building up and he wasn't getting a good sleep lately. Before undressing for bed he went down on his knees and prayed. He prayed for a miracle, for God to send him someone who could help. Then he undressed and went to sleep.

When he woke, it was in the middle of the night to a knock on his door. Grumbling, he didn't bother to clothe his naked body before answering the door. The one who knocked was his manservant, Emil. The boy of nineteen winters had a face of ice with hair nearly the same shade.  
"Sir." Emil said, "They've struck again." Berwald cursed loudly, and ran back into his room to dress.  
Ten minutes later, Berwald was dressed and mounted on his great stallion in the castle courtyard; the whole castle was awake and moving, after hearing about the bandit attack. Berwald reviewed the information he knew as he ordered the troops to assemble. That was normally the captain of the guard's job, but he was gone so it fell temporarily to Berwald to do so. The bandits called themselves 'Vikings' even though they had no ships for conquest. They were downright vicious though, stealing from even those who had no money. And since they were in the Oxenstierna territory, it was up to the Lord Berwald to stop them. And stop them he would.  
"Ride out!" he roared and the soldiers jerked into motion. They were used to the high, battlefield-carrying voice of Captain Henrikki, and were unfamiliar to their Lord Berwald's gruff bark. When they had spoken with the Lord, he had been speaking in short sentences, almost as if he abhorred speaking at all. They were all loyal to him though, almost to a fault. Most had been picked up from old, tattered villages, ones the other lords had abandoned way far north in favor of heading south. Lord Berwald had stayed though, and offered them and their families a place to stay. Their wives bore sons who would grow up to serve Lord Berwald's children as the soldiers had their father. As their horses picked up pace outside of the castle walls, all the soldiers focused on calming themselves, preparing for the carnage they'd see ahead. And maybe even a battle.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The next day dawned bright, the sun reflecting off the freshly fallen white snow. A certain shepherd emerged from his hut to check his flock, which had been driven into the barn last night to protect them from the blizzard. They wouldn't fit in the hut the shepherd and his wife and children shared. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his three children emerge after him, rushing to go about their duties. His eldest, a girl, went for the axe to chop wood for the fire. The youngest, a boy, to gather snow to melt to water to wash clothes and drink and such; the middle child, another girl, had a bucket in hand and was already racing to the barn ahead of her father. The shepherd watched, amused, as his child ran to the barn and yanked open the door . . . and froze. Fear clogged his throat for a wild moment. Were his sheep and goats dead? Their income gone? Running across the short length, he skidded to a stop by his child and looked into the barn. The sheep and goats made their goat noises, crowding around something in the center of the barn. The shepherd ordered his child to fetch the rest of the family, as he grabbed the axe that stood by the door. Then he waded into the sea of stinky bodies to see what their fuss was about. There, he saw two figures, side by side and clutching each other tight. They both had short hair, but one was brunette and the other blond. Their cloaks cocooned them together. With a start, the brunette awoke and pierced the shepherd with a single grey eye. Spying the axe, the man leapt up, and the shepherd backed away quickly, at the tell-tale silver flash of a dagger. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then the brunette sheathed his blades and nudged his companion with a toe to the ribs. They spoke Finnish; that much the Swedish shepherd could tell. After all, they were right next to the border. The blond woke calmly, and the brunette spoke, and jerked a thumb over to the shepherd.  
"Hei!" the shepherd said, greeting the two. The brunette looked at him and nodded, the blond rubbing his eyes sleepily.  
"Hallå . . ." the blond said sleepily. "Forgive my companion; he isn't fond of speaking to strangers." The blond stood, shaking out his body. "And please forgive us for intruding into your barn. See, the storm would have killed us if we didn't."  
The shepherd shook his head, "It is fine." He said, comfortable in speaking Swedish, "This far north, I understand the need to survive." He looked at his flock, so small and wane. "Taking up a trade like mine is difficult here. Most people are hunters or fisherman. Only I'm foolish enough to have bought sheep and goats for wool, milk and cheese." He smiled, "But they pay handsomely for it."  
"We made a kill." The blond said suddenly. "My companion can show you where it is. We just ask for forgiveness, maybe a little food to last us as we continue on our travels." The fisherman nodded.  
"Sounds good."

* * *

It was dawn when they set out; it was midday when they arrived at the burned shell of the village. By this time, the bandits were long gone, and the villagers who had managed to escape had come back their home, dazed. The smell of charred wood and human flesh lingered in the air. Berwald looked over his people, even though they didn't even seem to recognize that 200 foot soldiers and 50 mounted soldiers had just come through the ruined gates. Some of the villagers wandered around aimlessly, calling names of lost loved ones. Others went through the burned buildings, trying to salvage something. More still clung to corpses, sobbing or cursing or just sitting there staring into space. He saw a particularly distraught woman, kneeling over a body and shaking it, telling the man with an arrow through his heart to wake up and stop playing pretend; they weren't kids anymore, they were just married, right? This was a joke made in bad taste, why wouldn't he wake up? Berwald had to look away. It was just like what happened to his mother. Berwald blocked that thought before it could develop.

"Scouts!" he called, "In pairs, through the forest. Any lost villagers send them here; if you find any of those bandits . . . kill them." Two dozen scouts went out, and to the rest of the soldiers, he ordered them to round up the villagers, and then have them help dig graves. Berwald knew from experience that giving a menial, repeatable task would help the shocked people. Then he ordered the worst part: the collection of bodies. Fifty soldiers followed the first order, leading people to the center of town while another 20 made sure they didn't leave it. The remaining 150 or so split up, half went to collect bodies and the other half to take valuables from houses.  
It was dirty work.  
Soot and blood was everywhere. Berwald went around, trying to help everyone with everything. Some of the villagers didn't want to leave the bodies of their loved ones and that's where Berwald came in. With either his giant frame or his monster strength, he managed to get the villagers to the town center, where they were then routed out to dig graves. Berwald could see the other benefit of making the villager's dig the graves: it left his men less exhausted in case the bandits decided to come back.

It was well into the night when all the corpses were buried. There were several unmarked graves that were unavoidable; they were too burned to make anything of their faces. After giving the villagers more time to mourn, he called over a young man named Ander Dahlstrom. After Henrikki, Ander was the most looked up to member of Berwald's guard. Being only 20 winters, he had somehow managed to become a swordsman equal to Berwald, and while Berwald had been trained to fight, Ander had not. The admirable man had dragged himself to the top, fighting tooth and nail for a place. And all the foolish man wanted to do was open up a school to teach letters. Apparently, a wandering monk had taught Ander how to read and write, and Ander wanted to spread that knowledge. Berwald had offered him the position of the captain, but it was rejected. Ander had argued, he was much too young to take the role, the men would not respect him. This was regrettably true.  
But that was not what Berwald was concerned about for the moment.  
"When it lights dawn, send all but 50 men with the villagers back to the castle. We're hunting these bandits down once and for all."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Tino and Ilta helped the shepherd for the day. After losing a guessing game, Ilta was the one milking the goats and taking care of the flock. Tino went to collect wood and spent time in the warm kitchen, cooking. At the end of the day, they collected a bag that contained frozen meat, and a small, near-frozen wheel of cheese covered in a thin cloth. There was also a wineskin filled with water. Tino and Ilta slept again in the barn, waking before dawn and leaving without a word. They said nothing.  
"The family didn't find out our names or our sex." Tino said brightly, after they had travels miles in silence. His childhood friend tweaked her mouth, forming a half-scowl.  
"If the others find them, it won't matter much. How often do you think they get visitors up here in the middle of nowhere? They'll know we stuck to unused paths, and will follow our tracks right there. Damn, there's just no escaping them is there? Damn it damn it damn it!" Tino winced. It was his fault they had to leave the village; it was Tino's fault that Ilta had to leave her family, her friends, and her lover behind. It happened in Russia when Tino made a fatal mistake.

He was the type of assassin to take his target down from behind, an arrow in the back to end things. Tino was no stranger to killing. But this assignment was different, he was to go after the target and confront him like Ilta normally did.  
The target was a 9 year old boy.  
He was hired by the Streltsy to kill this boy, nameless and innocently asleep.  
And Tino couldn't do it.  
He ran instead.  
That was a forbidden act in the village. By running, he left a job incomplete, with a chance he was seen, even if the boy was fast asleep. But Tino had revealed his face, a face that belonged to their assassin group, Kasvoton, the Faceless. So Tino had to die to keep the members a secret. Ilta had helped Tino escape, but was spotted and had fled with him. The Finnish man had almost no doubt that they would be hunted down and killed because despite their young age, both Ilta and Tino were talented killers. Talent that could be used against them.  
They had to do the only thing they could: run and keep running.

Ilta was stuffing more snow into their wineskin when they heard it.  
Men.  
The only cover the barren winter landscape provided were scant rocks, skinny trees and . . .  
"Snowdrift." Ilta hissed and the two dived behind a particularly large one. Ilta closed her eyes and listened. "About twenty. Too many for us to handle. Lugging things. Some horses." Her eyes flashed open. "Bandits or traders. I guess we'll tell from their clothes when they pass." Tino heard raucous laughter and bawdy jokes and songs.  
"They're bandits." He determined, "Their words and slurred and they are too loud. Drunk, most likely." Tino shook his head, "Traders would never do this." Ilta peeked over the ridge.  
"You're right. They could be ambushed or something if they weren't careful." She settled back. "They're behind the copse of trees over there. If we're quite enough, we can skirt them and continue." She shifted from sitting to a squat, something Tino did as well. "I doubt they remembered scouts."  
"Let's go." Tino said and they raced off. Their weight evenly distributed as to lessen the sound of crunching ice.  
"Whassthat?" came a loud yell. Ilta cursed silently.  
"Hey! I think its peo'le!"  
"Run. Fast as you can. Don't look back." Ilta said. Tino nodded and their carefully quiet steps changed until they were flying across the wooded landscape.  
"There they are! Af'er 'em!"

Berwald was smiling, though it was miniscule. Ander had assembled his men perfectly, and equal number of trackers and soldiers, all of whom had experience in wooded areas, where the bandits had escaped into. He knew the tracks were at least a day old, which would normally spell disaster seeing as they had no tracking hounds (not that'd they help much: snow was water). But it was a certain bottle that made Berwald smile. Holding the alcohol container in his gloved hand, he could smell it was the cheap stuff, but strong. Ander was not smiling, though the men were. As Berwald signaled for them to move out, Ander came up beside his Lord.  
"This can't be the Vikings." He said quietly, "They'd never be so dumb as to drink while escaping."  
Berwald had to agree, and though it quelled his eagerness, it didn't completely disappear.  
"We will still wipe out scum, Ander." He said gruffly; Ander, though looking unsatisfied, nodded and fell back to speak to a scout that had returned to report.

It was hours later, when the troops and horses were resting, when a scout came back. Due to his training, he made a valiant effort to appear calm, but it was clear he was excited. The men picked up on the scent eagerly; they could tell this man had information. The end of their hunt was nearing. He fell to one knee before Berwald with his head bowed, waiting for permission to speak. Berwald looked at the man while eating a piece of hard bread and grunted, giving permission.  
"The tracks went a while more north-eastward, but they backtracked. I couldn't tell for a while what caused it, but in the end." He held up a piece of cloth, bright blue in color. "According to what the villagers said, the bandits were dressed in furs. They were chasing someone, or some ones. I can only assume some of the village maids they kidnapped have escaped." The scout smiled. "Now they head south-eastward." Berwald stood, and didn't have to say anything before the men were cleaning and mounting up. The tall, ocean-eyed Swedish man allowed himself a small smile.  
The end of the hunt was coming.

As the scouts came in, they confirmed what the first scout said: a sudden chase south-eastward. It was a while before the last scout came he reported that it wasn't two females, but rather two small males. He had seen them running. From what he said, there was a blond and brunette and they were picking off the bandits one by one before running again. That's why the scout was late; he was watching the couple kill a bandit. From the way the scout described it, the brunette would draw them off and an arrow would come sailing out of nowhere to hit the bandit, normally straight in the throat, presumably by the blond. If a bandit dodged, then the brunette could dash close, a flash of metal, and the horse was down, blood streaming from its throat. The rider would be falling as well, the saddle straps cut. Through the confusion, the brunette would run and disappear into the trees again, despite the lack of cover. There were several close hits, but the scout was confident that the brunette got away.  
"That's not normal." Ander said, at the end, "That's really not normal."  
"Regardless, it just makes our job easier. We have to go faster."  
Ander nodded and signaled the men.  
Soon.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Ilta was beginning to feel exhausting at the corners of her mind. She was an assassin, and even with all of her training and stamina, this game of cat and mouse through the snow was hard to endure. Firstly, it involved running in calf-deep snow; it tired her legs. The bandits chasing her didn't make it easier. She consoled herself with the fact that Tino was more or less safe as an archer and that the climbing and descending of trees must be way harder than what she was doing. As she dashed away from them again, having distracted them long enough for Tino to kill his sixth man out of seventeen, an arrow lodged into her thigh. She smothered a scream and immediately dived behind a snow bank. Quickly, she yanked the arrow out, grabbing the snow and pressing it to her gushing wound. She threw the red-soaked snow and applied more over and over again, until her skin was numb and the bleeding stopped. Then she wrapped her leg with the ever present bandages she had with her. Up she was again, forcing the pain to the back of her mind and running again. She turned south more, hoping to the gods that Tino had seen what happened. When they escaped from the village, they made an agreement: if they didn't have contact within two hours of seeing each other, the other should leave immediately because it was likely that the other was killed. The date to reunite with each other, if by some miracle they were still alive, would be at Denmark's capital. As Ilta kept running, she could feel the wound tiring her faster than before. Already, she was planning what words to say to make them kill her outright; she would not suffer the shame of being raped. Dressed as a male, it was not impossible, but once they found out she was a female, it was inevitable. She emerged in a clearing and cursed. This was not the ideal spot- the thought was flushed out by pain as right arm was hit. She hit the snow with enough force to stun her.  
"Finally! Caught yah! That was almost too hard! Lost six men!" the leader said, dismounting with a smile. "It sure woke me up though, huh boys? What about you?" The men groaned with agreement. They were drunk and obviously felt sick. The leader stalked over to where Ilta was rearranging her wits and grabbed her by her short hair. She hissed, using her good left hand to scratch at the leather glove covering his hand. The leader's eyes widened in surprise.  
"Hey! You're a pretty man! You'll fetch a good price in the slavery business!" he said, his eyes alighting with greed. Ilta spat in his face. Almost immediately, a knee connected with her chin, knocking her head back. Thankfully, the leader had let go of her head to wipe his face, letting Ilta discharge a bit of the impact. Even without the pain and the blood rushing down her face, she knew her nose was broken. The leader picked her up by the hair again. "We'll have to train that out of you." He said pleasantly-  
Before screaming in pain.  
From the hand holding Ilta's hair, an arrow sprouted.  
Tino's arrow.  
Oh you bloody fool! She thought, her vision dancing between red, black and white. You stupid boy. But she couldn't move a muscle to stop such a dumb boy. That's when Ilta felt the heavy drag on her body, calling her beaten and battered shell to sleep and heal.  
In a last, momentous effort, she shouted, "LEAVE!"  
Tino didn't go.

"We'll need a distraction." Ander was saying, "There's no guarantee that the two are still alive." Berwald nodded, only half hearing the man's words. Two men? With no swords or armor taking down horsed men? It was amazing to hear.  
"There!" came a muffled cry. Everyman looked. There was a clearing, left by woodmen, and in it stood a group of horses and men. Berwald could make out bloody snow around a still, lying form that the men surrounded. On the opposite side of the clearing stood another, his hood drawn up and an arrow notched in his bow. He spoke Swedish, telling the men to stop what they were doing, that he could pin a fly to a tree thirty meters away. Berwald almost though it was and exaggeration, until the boy loosed an arrow, going straight through the eye of the bandit farthest from the archer. The seeming leader of the group grabbed the one on the ground, holding a knife to the boy's throat.  
"I'll kill him!" he threatened.  
"Go ahead." The archer responded, another arrow already notched, then loosed. "It would be kinder." The arrow hit another man, straight through the heart. Berwald and his men were staring in wonder. That had to be a long bow the boy was handling, one of the hardest to draw, and yet this slight man handled it as if it were no more trouble that a string attached to a curved branch.  
"I'll really kill him!" the man threatened again, desperate now. The archer took a step forward.  
"Go on. But none of you will leave this clearing alive. That I can promise you."  
"NOW!" Ander roared. Berwald stood still, letting the soldiers surge around him. He watched, fascinated, as the captured male latched onto the arm that held his hair, swinging his body up wards to kick his captor in the jaw. His eyes flashed across the clearing to the archer, who shot his arrows at the bandits while running towards his friend. Said friend was fighting furiously, silver daggers like butterflies, slicing up the bandits before Berwald's men got there. By the time the bandits were dead, the archer was cradling his bloodied friend, crying.  
"Ilta! Ilta! Gods forgive me, don't die. Ilta, oh my dear Ilta!" Berwald faintly recognized the female name as he dismounted and approached the two. Closer, Berwald could now recognize the beauty of the two; like flowers blooming in a burned forest. The one called Ilta fastened her stormy grey eyes onto Berwald.  
"Take Tino." she croaked, "Take him, protect him, please." The blond Tino stroked her bloody hair.  
"What are you saying Ilta? We were going to go to Denmark together, right?" he asked, and Berwald recognized the beginnings of hysteria.  
"Take him. He's in danger!" Ilta cried, trying to sit up. Her wounds gushed even more and Berwald could see that the bandits had managed to strike her before she killed them. Tino began to shout at her in Finnish and she shouted back. What a resilient woman. Berwald thought. He barely completed the thought when she reached up to slap Tino across the face. She spoke in Finnish and said only one word Berwald recognized.  
_Kasvoton._  
Berwald shivered. The assassin group Kasvoton was infamous. They got the job done quickly and silently. Being on the Kasvoton hit list was akin to dying that very second. Ander came up by Berwald.  
"Sir, it's almost night, we have to leave now or we'll get stuck in the freezing dark."  
"Take him God dammit!"  
"No!"  
Realization crashed onto Berwald's shoulders.  
For the first time, he'd have to make a life or death decision.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Tino was struggling to keep up with Ilta. He always had. She was telling this new Swedish man to take him away from her? Oh Hel no. Ilta would either live or Tino would be there to witness her death. There was no other way.  
"Take him or I swear to any and all gods I will haunt you as a ghost." Ilta threatened and Tino almost felt a flicker of a smile. Ilta was always empty with her threats; she just attacked, she didn't give you time to prepare. Tino recognized that another voice had entered the conversation.  
"Lord Berwald we have to leave now!" Tino clutched onto Ilta desperately. In a sudden surge of energy that surprised him into loosening his hold, Ilta rocked upright, kneeling in front of the giant man called Berwald and snatching his clean pale hand in her bloodied one. Ilta didn't say anything, just looked at him evenly, with unblinking eyes. Though Berwald's eyes were fixed solely on Ilta's, Tino noted how interesting a color the Swede's eyes were. Slowly, her hand slid out of his, leaving a smear of ruby blood on the man's hand. Berwald looked at his hand for a silent moment, then closed his beautiful eyes, took a deep breath in, and let it out. His eyes snapped open.  
"Mount up!" he called, "We ride in five minutes!" Ilta fell back into Tino's lap. Her eyes were closed and her breathing surprisingly even, as if she were to fall asleep any moment.  
"Forgive me Tino." She said in Finnish, "Rakastan sinua, rakas ystävä." Tears welled in Tino's eyes.  
_I love you, my dear friend._  
"There's nothing to forgive." He choked out. Tino felt tears on his face as he leaned in to kiss her forehead, "Minäkin rakastan sinua, Ilta." He whispered.  
_I love you too, Ilta._  
"Sorry." Came Berwald's gruff voice the instant before his fist made contact with the back of Tino's neck, knocking him out in an instant.  
"Take care of him." Ilta rasped, hearing the men leave the clearing.  
Berwald scooped him in his arms, nodding, "I will." Then he was gone.

Ilta wouldn't die quickly. She could feel the cold Swedish winds freezing her blood already. She would die of frostbite or hypothermia; sinking from cold, to colder, to freezing, to warmth. She had almost gone this way before and knew how quick it would happen. Night fell quicker than she had expected, and with it, soft snow. Ilta watched as the stars slowly filled the sky, feeling her body stiffen and become colder and colder, but being too exhausted to even shiver. It seemed like forever until the cold became colder and Ilta was wondering how long it would take to transition from the colder to the freezing stage when she heard footsteps approach her. With years of training ground into her bones, she was awake in an instant. She sighed in remorse. The footsteps stopped. A face came into her line of vision. A face that was uncomfortably familiar to her, though Ilta was too tired to remember why.  
"You look horrible." The figure said, "I came thinking I could finally fight you properly, but you're almost dead. This isn't what I signed up for."  
"Tino's gone. I'm almost dead. Go back to Russia, Natalya." The woman shrugged, bundled lightly against such cold. She crouched down next to Ilta and checked the Finnish woman over. Then she sat back, thinking. She seemed to come to a decision. With as much effort as it takes to lift a feather, Natalya scooped Ilta up.  
"You will die in a more proper place." The Russian woman said. Ilta rolled her eyes.  
"Whatever you say, just let it be quick." Natalya flashed a smile.  
"Worry not, dead-woman. Natalya will make sure things end right."

Berwald left Tino in his own room, stoked a fire and called for a doctor. He watched the boy called 'Tino' sleep for a moment, taking in the boy's appearance. He was beautiful. With hair like the sunshine itself and amethyst eyes, he had strange, but beautiful coloring. Berwald had seen earlier that his figure was slim, but not skinny. He seemed to have the right amount of fat and muscle on his body, and from the way he was wielding that longbow, his arms and back would be powerful. The boy moved his head and spoke, shocking Berwald.  
"Ilta . . ." he breathed, ever so quietly. Berwald left the room with a strangely heavy heart.

When the doctor came back out, he told Berwald that Tino had no lasting injuries and for a trip through the woods and a hit to the head, was in stunningly good condition.  
Berwald grunted and as the doctor left, Ander came in. Without a word, Berwald tossed a document to the young soldier. Ander let out a cry of shock when he read what was written there.  
"But I'm much too young!" he protested again, "I couldn't possibly- the men wouldn't respect me!"  
"Then get them to." Was Berwald's answer. "Dismissed." After Ander had left the room, Berwald removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. He then rubbed his temples, and then stretched his neck side to side, trying to rub the knots out of his shoulder. He was tired, too tired to notice the door to his room open. It was attached directly to Berwald's large office. His room was actually meant to be an apprentice's room, but that obviously didn't happen. When deft fingers descended on his shoulders to work on the knots, it took more than a few moments for Berwald to process it. He moved to leap up from his chair when those same fingers jammed down on a nerve so hard, Berwald fell to his knees.  
"I don't mean to be rude." Tino said from behind Berwald, "But I'm going to ask you a few questions."

Ander walked to down to the castle main, dazed. If it didn't mean death to defy your Lord, Ander would have argued way more hotly about the decision to make him captain. It still didn't feel real. The reality sure was taking it's time to sink in. Instead of going to the barracks, Ander's feet carried him to the stables where his mare, Estre, ate dried hay. Even though she had already been groomed, Ander picked up a currycomb and began the process again, trying to organize his thoughts. He was now the Captain of the Oxenstierna Castle Guard.  
It was the weirdest feeling.  
He, Ander, was only twenty years old and the captain of a castle guard! It was hard to swallow. By now, the news was sinking in, and Ander had to admit he was a bit proud of himself. The currycomb stopped its strokes. But now he wouldn't be able to go to the surrounding villages and teach the children their letters. It was an irritating drawback, but with the increased pay the Captain got, it would go far to funding his school. Ander finished combing Estre and made to leave the stables, when he rammed right into another body. Both stumbled back, looking up to see whom they had run into.  
Both recognized each other.  
Violet eyes met baby blue ones.  
That's when both realized that something had happened.


End file.
